(superior)
Compared to the chaotic "borrowed accommodation" life, Shi Meng's study life was easier than he had imagined.
Teacher Ma teaches students entirely based on fate, never assigning rigid themes to restrict their creativity. The main purpose of class is to let students unleash their creativity and then appreciate and discuss the previous class's work in the next class. The teaching is relaxed yet orderly, with a well-paced rhythm.
He doesn't impose strict time constraints either, firmly believing that art originates from fleeting inspiration. He argues that setting deadlines for artwork, like assigning homework, would stifle creative passion and one's true self.
Therefore, Shi Meng rarely went to school. Whenever he finished a new painting, he would call Teacher Ma, but Teacher Ma was usually not at school. Sometimes they would meet at the art museum, sometimes at the teahouse, and the most outrageous time was in the park, because Teacher Ma was tired from his morning run and didn't want to move for a while, so he asked Shi Meng to come directly over.
When Shi Meng rushed over with the painting on his back, he saw a crowd gathering in the distance. When he got closer, he found Teacher Ma standing in the middle of the crowd, holding a mop-like ground calligraphy pen in his hands, drawing something on the ground.
Due to the limitations of ground-based calligraphy, the mountains he drew lacked clear layers and dried quickly under sunlight. Passersby didn't know what he was drawing, and after watching for a while, they lost interest and walked away. But Teacher Ma was drawing with great enthusiasm, making strokes left and right, as if he were the one who had just said on the phone that he was too tired to move.
Shi Meng stood silently to the side and watched until Teacher Ma finished painting and beckoned to him. Only then did he step forward and unfold the painting rolled up in his bag.
"It's about people again." After reviewing the entire image, Teacher Ma nodded and said, "Not bad, the handling of light and shadow is even more skillful than last time."
Hearing this comment made the trip worthwhile. After discussing the details with Teacher Ma for a while, Shi Meng rolled up the painting, stuffed it back into his bag, and prepared to leave.
"Don't rush off," Teacher Ma called out to him, handing him the calligraphy brush. "Here, draw something however you like."
Shi Meng took the pen, looked down at the ground, paused for a long time, and said, "There's nothing I want to draw."
Teacher Ma sat to the side, fanning herself: "How could you not have anything you want to draw? Think about it again."
Five minutes later, Shi Meng lowered his head and said in a resigned manner, "Really, there isn't any."
"Then what was that picture I just saw?"
Shi Meng remained silent.
Teacher Ma sighed, then beckoned to Shi Meng to come and sit down.
“I’ve also had the feeling of focusing on a particular object or scene and wanting to paint it to its fullest extent, and I completely understand it.” Teacher Ma never puts on airs, so he can always easily defuse Shi Meng’s resistance to communication. “Although I support free creation and hope that the younger generation can paint what they feel in their hearts, I hope you can distinguish between research and obsession.”
From the moment Teacher Ma mentioned "but," Shi Meng felt a chill run down his spine.
He thought he had hidden it well and had never revealed his creative purpose in front of others, but he never expected it to still be like this...
“Delving into research may lead you to a breakthrough and make achievements in a certain field, while obsession will only trap you in the same place and make you miss out on more scenery that you should be able to see.”
Contrary to Shi Meng's expectations, Teacher Ma did not point it out directly.
He didn't even stop Shi Meng from continuing to paint the same person. He simply took the brush from Shi Meng's hand and said with regret, "I've seen many of your works, including that one called 'Flame.' They say you stole that painting, but I think only you could paint that kind of intense longing, and the struggle of wanting to touch it but being afraid of being burned."
Shi Meng's eyes trembled violently as he looked up at the person opposite him.
This is the first time in years that someone has believed him, not because of any so-called evidence, but because of their understanding and trust in him.
Upon receiving Shi Meng's gaze, Teacher Ma exclaimed, "A person who can create such emotionally rich works should be quick to understand and not be trapped by limitations."
Before parting, he looked at the ground, which was completely dry and bare, and said with a smile, "If you get tired, just like me, find a place to rest for a while, and pick up your brush again when you feel like painting."
"You can draw anything. I hope that when you pick up a pen, you can let go of your obsessions, treat the drawing paper as a miniature world, and freely express yourself with your brush and ink."
After returning home, Shi Meng stood on the balcony in a daze for a long time, until the sun set and a few stars peeked out from the clouds.
Spring came and went quickly in Fengcheng this year. The arrival of early summer brought not only the dampness of the plum rain season, but also a sense of oppressive heat.
When he reached into his pocket and couldn't find a cigarette, he was stunned for a long time before he remembered that he had quit a long time ago.
Why quit smoking?
Because Fu Xuanliao couldn't stand the smell of smoke.
What about Fu Xuanliao?
I haven't been back for quite a few days.
But it doesn't matter, I want him back, so he has to come back.
In just a few months, Shi Meng's life focus shifted in one direction, and he used all sorts of underhanded tricks, unafraid of gossip.
He was doing what he believed was right, so he was going all in, leaving no way out.
But it should be Fu Xuanliao who is trapped. Shi Meng was puzzled. Why did they all think that I was the one who was trapped?
When Fu Xuanliao received Shi Meng's call, he was sitting in a private room upstairs at Heting Tower, reviewing documents amidst the hazy, languid jazz music, which was quite out of place.
Gao Lecheng, who was standing to the side, was playing cards by himself out of boredom. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Fu Xuanliao had hung up five phone calls in a row, and he knew what was going on.
“I thought you were joking at first, but I didn’t expect him to be so pushy.” Gao Lecheng shook his head and said, “No wonder you couldn’t stay in the office and came here to work.”
Fu Xuanliao was still troubled by the thought of Shi Meng coming all the way to his company last week after he had worked overtime and returned home late, and barging into his office despite being stopped.
But all this commotion is better than risking his life. Last time he received a call from his mother, thinking Shi Meng was really dying, he ran several red lights on his way back, almost losing his life.
Fu Xuanliao put down his pen, raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose: "This is the only place that's quiet."
Gao Lecheng picked up his phone: "I'll have more people guard downstairs to give you a few more minutes of peace and quiet."
It wasn't that he was afraid to go home, but he had been too busy lately and rarely had any peace and quiet. In addition, the things he was working on recently were related to the person living at home, and Fu Xuanliao didn't want to see him, for fear of being distracted.
"I think you're afraid you'll soften your heart," Gao Lecheng said, hitting the nail on the head. "Although Second Young Master Shi doesn't rely on shares for his livelihood, this kind of thing still carries a hint of betrayal. If Second Young Master Shi is the kind of person who can't tolerate any wrongdoing—"
"That's good," Fu Xuanliao replied. "Let him give up sooner rather than later, to save ourselves the trouble."
Gao Lecheng looked at him with some skepticism, wanting to say something, but ultimately remained silent.
Even the best of friends shouldn't get involved in each other's romantic relationships. They're already struggling with their own issues, and outsiders might just make things worse by stirring things up.
He then changed the subject, asking about the collaboration with the Shi family mother and daughter.
"Didn't they say they had the support of the group's veterans? Why did they drag you into it?"
Fu Xuanliao closed his eyes to rest, and said in a low voice, "It's hard to guarantee that there aren't a few disloyal people among the powerful families. If they change their minds on the spot, the Fu family's task is to cover for them and fill in the gaps in this variable."
"No wonder," Gao Lecheng warned. "You'd better be careful not to get yourself into trouble."
Fu Xuanliao hummed in agreement and said nothing more.
In the middle of the night, Fu Xuanliao's phone rang several more times, but was hung up again.
Gao Lecheng glanced at the calendar: "Tomorrow is Saturday. I've almost finished my work. Aren't you planning to go back?"
Reminded by him, Fu Xuanliao also opened his phone to check the calendar, and looked at it for several minutes. His eyes were fixed on that date for a long time without blinking.
Gao Lecheng waved his hand in front of his face and said with a smile, "What, didn't expect Saturday to come so quickly?"
Fu Xuanliao couldn't laugh, even if he tried to appear relaxed.
After a long while, he slowly withdrew his gaze: "I'm not going back, I'm going to the cemetery."
"cemetery?"
The rain pattered softly outside the window; the annual plum rain season always arrives quietly.
"Tomorrow..." Fu Xuanliao's face remained expressionless, but his voice lowered, "It is the anniversary of Shi Mu's death."
(Down)
On the second Saturday of July, Shi Meng habitually circled the SAT section on her paper calendar with a red pen.
Shi Meng was a little uneasy because she called Fu Xuanliao ten times yesterday but he didn't answer.
This unease briefly disappeared when I opened the curtains and saw it was raining outside.
Shi Meng disliked rainy days, so if his unease stemmed from this, he was actually relieved.
Thinking about it carefully, there was indeed no need to be uneasy, after all, he had plenty of ways to bring Fu Xuanliao back.
During the day, Shi Meng paints and cooks with Jiang Rong. Since he came to this family, the housekeeper has come less often, which he considers a good sign, at least proving that he is being gradually accepted by this family.
Once Fu Xuanliao's parents have accepted him, Fu Xuanliao himself will have no choice but to accept him.
This traditional concept originated from Yang Youlan's indoctrination. Back then, she told eight-year-old Meng with such confidence: "As long as you have Shi Huaiyi's blood in your veins, and he is willing to take you home, no one else can refuse to accept you. As for whether they are happy or not, is that any of my business?"
Out of an attempt to avoid unpleasant memories, Shi Meng rarely thought of her mother. However, she was suddenly reminded of her mother by an unexpected event and even received a phone call from her as if by telepathy, which startled her.
As he pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear, a muffled clap of thunder sounded simultaneously, causing Shi Meng's hand to tremble and the phone to nearly fall.
"Why did it take you so long to answer?" Yang Youlan on the other end of the phone didn't care about his situation. After scolding him, she immediately gave him an order: "Mumu is missing again. Go and look for it, especially around your house. It may have run back home."
Shi Meng didn't tell her that she had moved out; "your home" here refers to the Shi family.
The Fu family's residence is located in the city center, a distance of twenty or thirty kilometers from the Shi family's residence.
It was still raining outside.
Shi Meng was afraid that running away would waste time, so she wanted to find out as much as possible: "When did it run away? Have you searched the neighborhood? We made a name tag for it, and we put it on..."
"I told you it's missing, so go find it. Why all the fuss?" For some reason, Yang Youlan's voice trembled on the phone. "My Mumu, how can I not worry?"
Shi Meng was stunned for a moment.
Yang Youlan's tone just now reminded him of the woman living in the Shi family's house and her reaction when she mentioned the pain of losing her son.
"It's all your fault, it's all your fault for not taking good care of my Mumu. Ever since he came home, he's been running around everywhere, he's become so wild."
Shi Meng swallowed hard, still bewildered.
He seemed to sense something, but couldn't quite grasp it. The incredible thought had just surfaced when it was swallowed back by a muffled clap of thunder.
"Go find him for me! I don't care, just go out and find him now!" Unable to hear a response from the other end of the phone, the frantic Yang Youlan screamed hysterically, "If you dare let my Mumu die again, I'll make you pay with your life!"
The rain continued until late at night. Returning home covered in sweltering heat and dampness, Fu Xuanliao didn't bother to shower or change. Instead, he sat on the sofa in the living room for a while.
He liked to sit here and think when no one was around. Although at this moment his mind was blank, and he wasn't thinking about anything.
To be precise, I dare not think about it. The same applies to memories, where a single move can affect the whole body. Moreover, seeing Shi Mu's black and white photo and hearing Li Bihan's mournful cries today only deepens the impression of similar scenes.
The wind blew away the dust covering it, and the scenes in his memory became clearer under the washing of the rain. Standing in the desolate cemetery, Fu Xuanliao seemed to hear a voice from afar, asking him if he remembered the promise he made, asking him how he could forget so easily.
"I haven't forgotten, I haven't forgotten," Fu Xuanliao answered, while also eagerly trying to cover it up. Even though no one knew that Saturday's significance to him had long surpassed that of the day itself, he could tell himself that the person who lay buried here was still the love of his life.
But he couldn't.
Because he knew he had changed, though he didn't know when it started.
He felt guilty, struggled, and even doubted whether his so-called true love really existed or if he was just wishfully embellishing the truth.
He loathed himself for forgetting his promise and letting himself get caught up in another entanglement.
Just then, the door was opened from the outside, and the person who had disrupted his resolute pace and slashed his once clear and pure memories again and again, turning them into a mess and unrecognizable mess, appeared before him.
Shi Meng was soaked to the bone, as if he had been drenched in rain for a long time.
He stood at the door for a while, and when he came in, his footsteps were as light as a ghost.
"Where did you go?" The voice was very soft.
Fu Xuanliao didn't want to be disturbed any further, so he simply stood up and walked towards the room.
The voice, however, wouldn't let him go, following him wherever he went.
"You went to see Mu Mu, didn't you?" Shi Meng asked herself leisurely, "You all like Mu Mu."
Immediately afterwards, a short laugh reached Fu Xuanliao's ears.
"Unfortunately, he was a painting thief."
The dressing room is on the left side of the room, and there is a two-meter-high mirror on the wall by the door.
A bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, accompanied by a muffled thud from a violent impact. Shi Meng only had time to gasp before the hand gripping his throat silenced him completely.
"Who stole the painting?" Fu Xuanliao glared at him fiercely. "Say it again?"
After nearly three months of lukewarm interactions, Shi Meng, who had once again stirred up Fu Xuanliao's anger, was extremely smug. He opened his lips with difficulty, silently mouthing the words, and said one word at a time—Shi Mu is a thief who stole and painted.
In just six words, Fu Xuanliao's long-held principles and newly built defenses were shattered.
Rage instantly consumed reason. Amidst the swirling ashes, Fu Xuanliao clenched his fists. He saw Shi Meng's chest heaving, unable to breathe, and felt a chill run down his spine. A surge of vengeful pleasure coursed through his boiling blood.
“You stole the painting,” Fu Xuanliao emphasized. “You stole his painting!”
Taking a breath of air while twisting his neck, Shi Meng regained the strength to speak, even if it was intermittent: "Then... will you also pay with my life?"
As the oxygen grew thinner, I would sometimes think in the fog—you all like him, you all want him to live, why not exchange my life for his?
Perhaps realizing he was merely provoking him, Fu Xuanliao paused for only a moment before sneering, "You think you're worthy?"
Shi Meng laughed as well, seemingly taking Fu Xuanliao's reaction as a sign that he was reluctant to let him die.
He pressed his hands against Fu Xuanliao's shoulders, desperately leaning forward, shamelessly trying to kiss his lips. When his body was turned over and pressed against the mirror, the coolness on his cheek made Shi Meng shiver violently.
He asked in a hoarse voice, "What... exactly do you like about him?"
Didn't you say I drew very well? Why don't you believe me?
Didn't you tell me not to be afraid and that no one would bully me? But why do I feel pain now?
Fu Xuanliao was taken aback by his question, and then a feeling of annoyance at being questioned welled up in his heart.
"What do you know about him that I like?" He desperately clung to the few memories that had ever touched his heart, trying to contrast Shi Meng's despicable behavior. "He was gentle, kind, and respectful to me. He would draw for me, talk with me until dawn, and feel sorry for my injuries."
"Me too..."
Shi Meng wanted to say, "I could do that too. I used to secretly watch you and quietly be good to you. I can go back to how I was before, even how you imagined him, if you want."
He's dead, can't you like me?
“And you…” Fu Xuanliao didn’t give him a chance to speak, gritting his teeth as he recounted, “You only know how to steal, seize, coerce, imprison…doing all sorts of despicable things.”
The fear of turning away was overshadowed by another, deeper fear, because Shi Meng knew clearly that everything he stated was true.
As if oblivious to how pathetic she looked, Shi Meng still struggled to turn her head: "Fuck me, you can fuck me like Mu fucks."
He couldn't wait to be fucked by Fu Xuanliao, to prove that he was needed.
At least there are people in this world who don't want him to die.
But Fu Xuanliao said, "You are not worthy."
He is so gentle and kind, how could someone as vicious as you compare?
Finally finding a justifiable outlet for his excessive anger, Fu Xuanliao grabbed Shi Meng's hair, pressed him against the mirror, patted his cheeks reddened from suffocation with the back of his hand, and whispered in his ear, "Look at you, besides this face, what else can compare to him?"
“But…” Shi Meng coughed twice, looked at Fu Xuanliao in the mirror, and a mocking smile appeared on his lips. “But he’s already dead.”
He stole my life's work and suffered retribution, which led to his untimely death.
And what about me? I insisted on taking back what was rightfully mine, and I clung to you without a care. Now, isn't it time for me to reap the consequences?
The deep-seated fear burst forth, eagerly emerging to wreak havoc. Just a moment ago, Shi Meng had disregarded life and death, but suddenly he began to fear death.
Like everyone who knows they've made a mistake but is powerless to change it, he spreads his fingers before reaching the finish line of life, trying to grasp something.
"If I die, if I die too." Unable to turn around, Shi Meng could only look at the person behind her in the mirror. "Would you remember me?"
The mirror had been broken at some point, with spiderweb-like cracks spreading out from Shi Meng's forehead.
Fu Xuanliao's eyes fell on one of the shards, his gaze as cold as ice.
Her beautifully curved thin lips, which had been kissed many times by Shi Meng, were repeatedly shattered with each opening and closing.
"I'll only know that after you die."
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